


What Have I Fucking Gotten Myself Into?

by Gebo



Series: A Different Fucking Morality [1]
Category: Bobby Squared - Fandom, Dead Fish (2005), Trainspotting (1996)
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-03-29
Packaged: 2018-06-07 13:57:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6807793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gebo/pseuds/Gebo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All it takes is a few too many drinks and a chance encounter with a raging psychopath to send your life into a chaotic, downward spiral. Danny Devine soon finds this out all too vividly when his path crosses with that of one Frank Begbie, a Scottish jailbird with a habit for boozing and violence. Waking up in a bed together with no memory of having got there is only the beginning of their acquaintance, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Have I Fucking Gotten Myself Into?

One of the first things Danny became aware of was the searing pain in his skull. It felt like someone had driven a fucking meat cleaver into his fucking head. He couldn’t open his eyes. The light filtering in through the thin curtains was excruciating.

 _Fuck!_ His head was killing him. He was going to fucking die. His head was fucking imploding. No one could fucking survive this.

The next thing he became aware of was the warm body next to his. Well, fucking fantastic. At least had had managed to bring home a fucking bit of tail to shag in his pissed-blind fucking blackout. He hoped she was pretty. He hoped she at the very least wasn’t a fucking hag. Fucking hell, he’d be pleased if the bint didn’t have a fucking hairlip and some sexually-fucking-transmitted disease. It had been a long time since Danny had let himself get so plastered. He could only hope he’d had the fucking presence of mind to use a fucking condom.

He couldn’t exactly give two fucks right at the moment, anyways. His head felt like it had been brutally taken to with a cricket bat, repeatedly. With a groan, Danny rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in the pillow to block out the light. His pillow smelled of bad cologne and hair product. Danny could not help the reflexive gag that had him stumbling off of the bed and into the loo. He heaved into the toilet, bringing up nothing but the bitter bile from his otherwise empty stomach. He spit it into the toilet bowl and stood, swaying dangerously on his feet.

His hand shot out to grasp at the counter to balance himself. It was only then that he noticed the soreness. His body hurt all over. Squinting in the too-bright florescent light at the mirror above the sink, he took a good look at himself. He was covered in bruises. _Fucking hell!_ What the fuck had he gotten himself into last night?

He reached up and ran a hand over his bare chest and up across his collarbone to a particularly nasty discolouration. He pressed gently and winced at the pain the slight pressure caused him. Jesus fucking Christ, he had really gotten into something nasty last night.

A nasty thought struck him and he lifted his arms close to his face, one at a time, inspecting the skin closely. No track marks, no injection sites. He hadn’t been drugged at all, or if he had, not intravenously. Danny breathed a sigh of relief at that. He had heard some fucking horrific stories of blokes getting doped up on various shite and dragged to a dark corner to be taken advantage of. He put that from his mind for the time being.

Turning around, Danny next looked over his shoulder at the reflection of his back. There were a series of long red scratch marks down his shoulder blades and over his back. Well, he knew right well where those had fucking come from, didn’t he? Danny smirked, despite himself. His pride inflated grandly to see proof of the good fuck he’d obviously given the bit of tit in his bed. Maybe if she was pretty enough, Danny would talk her into one last shag when she woke up, before he made some grand fucking excuse to run her out of his flat.

Running one hand through his greasy hair, Danny turned back to the toilet, emptied his bladder, shook himself off, and stepped back into the bedroom. The dimness of the room helped ease the pain in his head slightly as he sat on the edge of the bed. He reached over and carefully grabbed the edge of the sheet. All he could make out in the darkness was dark hair. He tugged.

“WHAT THE– WHO THE _FUCK_ ARE YOU?!” Danny nearly screamed as he leapt back from the bed, suddenly extremely aware of his own nakedness. The sheet concealed not a woman, but a man. An extremely well-muscled, pale-skinned, dark-haired, mustachioed, and fucking buff-naked man. A man who was blinking up at him in utter confusion, but whose expression quickly turned to one of rage. The man shot from the bed like it had electrocuted him. He looked frantically around the room for a second as if trying to ascertain his surroundings. Then he lunged at Danny.

Now, rage was an emotion Danny felt quite familiar with, but the expression on this stranger's face was a completely different animal. His eyes were blazing black pits, his face contorted hideously like a rabid animal in it's last attempts before death. Before Danny could react, the man had a hand around his throat and was slamming him backwards into the wall.

“Where the _fuck_ am ah?” the man growled, his mustache curled into an utterly terrifying snarl. Had Danny not just emptied his bladder, he might have pissed himself, which given his state of undress would have been fucking horrifying in and of itself. He silently thanked the sodding heavens for that.

The man shook him hard, banging his head against the wall. Somehow, Danny had the feeling that it wasn’t the first time in the past twelve hours. He opened his mouth, but gasped for a breath he couldn’t quite draw.

“I– I–” The man loosened his grip and Danny inhaled desperately before turning a sour glare on his attacker. “Ye’re in my fuckin’ flat, aren’t ya?! My fuckin’ flat! I ought to fuckin’ be the one askin’ the fuckin’ questions, sonny, and ya better fuckin’ answer them.” Danny reached up and shoved the man’s hand from his throat, puffing up his chest. The other man was a bit taller than Danny and much more muscular, but that had never fucking stopped him before. Most of the world of bigger than him, but he made up for it sheer fucking presence, didn't he?

Ridiculously, the thought crossed Danny’s mind that he ought to consider growing his own mustache. It seemed to work to make this bloke seem tougher. He shook his head. Another fucking time to worry on that. For now….

“What the fuck are ya doin’ in my flat, eh?! Who the fuck are you?! And why the _FUCK_ are ya sleeping naked as the fuckin’ baby Jesus in my fuckin' bed?!” The other man had backed off and was looking around the floor for, Danny presumed, his clothing.

“Ah’m Begbie. Frank Begbie. Ah dinnae ken whit ah’m fuckin’ daein here, but, ye doss fucking cunt. If ah fucking kent, ah widnae huv fuckin asked, would ah?!” The bloke, Begbie, had located his pants and trousers and pulled them on hastily.

Danny took a quick step towards the door, sensing danger as Begbie stuffed a hand into his trouser pockets. Moments later, he saw the flash of a blade and he was once again being held up against a wall by his neck. The knife in Begbie’s hand was pressed against his right ear and Danny could do nothing but claw hopelessly at the hand around his neck.

“Wait, wait, _wait_! Fuckin’ listen, mate. Listen! We can sort this, y’know? We can fuckin' sit down and have a wee fuckin’ civilized fuckin’ discussion. No need for violence, right? No fuckin’ need at all. Let’s just fuckin’ figure out what happened last night and fuckin’ relax, eh? Tea! Some fuckin’ tea and a nice big pint! Now doesn’t that sound fuckin’ g–,” he choked on the last words as Begbie momentarily tightened his grip around Danny’s airway.

“Whit the fuck daed ye gie us last night?” Begbie demanded, pressing the blade closer to Danny’s ear. He panicked.

“Give ya?! I didn’t fuckin’ give ya anything! I was fuckin’ pissed out of my head, last night. Right the fuck out of my mind, ya see? Lookin’ for a bit of tail to get my end in and–” He found himself pitched sideways, sliding down the wall in a heap as Frank Begbie tossed him aside and backed away quickly.

“Yer a fucking buftie?” Begbie asked, looking down at him from across the room in disgust.

“What?” Danny blinked at him, taken aback. “I– no! I’m not a fuckin’ pooftah! I’m not–,” he thought better of it. “Not…  not that there’s anything fuckin’ wrong with that. Not at all. To each their fuckin’ own, yeah?” Danny shut his mouth abruptly, realization coming to him how entirely ridiculous he sounded saying all of that when it was rather obvious what they had spent their night doing. He once again became very aware of every single one of his sore muscles. He groaned quietly and clambered to his feet to find his own trousers. When he had found them, he pulled them on and then looked around at Begbie, managing a bit more dignity now that he was partially clothed.

The other man had found his vest and jumper, and had pulled them on over his head. He looked disgruntled as he turned to Danny again, his face red and a tick going by his right eye. He had his knife in his hand again, but he made no move towards Danny.

“Ah’m no a fucking buftie, ye goat tha’? Ah’m no cunting gay, and ah’m no fucking lookin’ fir some cunt tae stick ‘is fucking prick up me arse. Ye goat that, ya wee fucking cunt?” He waited for Danny to nod, holding his hand up in what he hoped would come across as more non-threatening than entirely submissive.

“Right,” Begbie went on. “An' if ye e’er fucking mention this tae any cunt, ah’ll fucking shove yer ain tadger sae far up yer arse, ye’ll huv tae pay somebody tae fetch it.”

With that, Begbie stormed from the room. Danny stood utterly still until he heard the door to the flat slam shut, then he bolted for the door and threw both latches. With his back against the door, Danny slid down it to the floor, wincing when his arse hit the hard surface. He was going to be feeling that for a few days.

He groaned. What the ever-loving-fuck had he gotten himself into? And where the fuck had he found that bloke? It wasn’t often Danny found himself being talked at. Danny was the talker. He was the one that blew the fucking gaskets and ranted and shouted until he got his fucking way. That man, Begbie, he had a ripe fucking mouth on him, he did. And coming from Danny, that was saying quite a fucking lot.

This required some further investigation. He would have to call his contacts at the club, the last place he remembered being. Someone must have seen something. Someone must have slipped something into his drink. Or else he drank a fucking hell of a lot more than he'd ever thought possible.

From his seat in the hall, Danny heard the radio-clock on his bedside table switch on and the opening notes of The Who's "Dangerous" echo faintly across his flat. If only he could fucking remember what had happened last night. _Fucking Christ._


End file.
